A/N: So this is for day 10 of the tumblr vday challenge, Sweetheart. It's just—eh—uninspired meh. You've been warned. There's more Black Star in this one. Love me some Black Star.

What is awesome? The song/lyrics I paired it with is by Emily Brown, and is really fantastic. Give 'er a listen.

Don't call me sweetheart
Don't call me love
Just call me yours, mine
This is enough
And don't whisper "Baby,"
Soft in my ear
I'm nobody's maybe
And the words disappear

He only used pet names when he was afraid of her anger, her blazing temper as hot as the sun and twice as fierce. They surprised her, distracted her, let him convey whatever bit of unpleasantness he had to share, like 'I'm going to the witches realm for a week' or 'your dad is coming for dinner.'

Most of the time, she didn't seem to mind.

Angel—Love—even the questionable baby she could handle.

And then, Soul made the mistake of calling her sweetheart, and all hell broke loose.

"What did you just say?" Maka asked, seething. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her teeth gritted,

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but Black Star expects me to go to his bachelor party, and it's at a strip club which is gross I know, but I—"

"I—" she interrupted, growling. "Am nobody's sweetheart." She spat out the last word like a curse, and then he was on the floor as she stormed past him, book embedded firmly in his skull.

She hadn't chopped him—well, Soul couldn't even remember the last time Maka had chopped him, not since well before they'd started dating—and quite frankly, it frightened him. Not the thought she might hurt or kill him, but that she was hurt enough to resort to something she'd long since outgrown, at least when it came to him.

Clearly he'd fucked up, badly, but he didn't get it. Was this about the strip club? She knew him better than to think he was really interested, didn't she? She seemed pissed about the pet name he'd used but—that couldn't have been it.

Still twitching on the floor, confused as all fuck, Soul forced himself to sit up, knowing his meister was long since gone. His heart was still in his throat when he decided he needed help with this one and fished out his phone. Whatever he had done, he would make it right. He had to.

They sat together at the bar, beers in hand, a basketball game neither cared about on the flat screen above them.

"So wha'd you do this time, loser?" The blue haired man finally asked. Soul just sighed. He only ever called the assassin for advice when he was desperate, and the asshole damned well knew it. Still, having grown up with Maka, Black Star would sometimes have insight when Soul himself was completely floundering. It sounded wrong, considering Star was one of the least introspective people he knew, but so it was.

"The thing is—" the scythe began slowly. "I honestly don't know. I was breaking the news about your stupid fucking bachelor party—thanks for that by the way—when she slammed me with a book and ran off."

"She chopped you? Maaaaan!" Star guffawed. "She really must be pissed. I mean, last time I saw her knock you on your ass was before you two started playing hide the sausage." He waggled his eyebrows obscenely. "Maybe you just haven't been buttering her bun enough?"

The need to deck his friend was strong, but Star would deck back, and ending up on his ass again was not on his agenda, so Soul settled for a scowl.

"Oh you definitely are not doing enough of the ol' rumpy-pumpy. Just go find her, play a couple of games of in n out, and—"

"That is not the problem," the scythe gritted out, the urge to punch the blue haired moron growing by the second.

Black Star shrugged. "If you say so, dude."

"I do," Soul said flatly. He could have explained that they'd just had sex that morning—and the night before—and an afternoon delight before that—but it was really none of Star's damned business how often he got laid, which was a really fucking lot. No complaints there for either of them. None. Nope.

Another shrug. "Alright then, loser, you said she laid you out on your ass and then ran off. She say anything when she did it?"

"Uh." he scratched the back of his head. "Just that she's nobody's sweetheart."

Black Star's eyebrows shot up comically. "You—called her sweetheart?"

His companion nodded confirmation. "Yeaaaaah, so?"

"Oh, shit—shit—no wonder," he guffawed again before his face grew serious. He put a hand on the scythe's shoulder, which had Soul glaring. "Bro," he began, voice even. "Brosky. Brohemian. There are few hard, fast rules in life—don't eat from the yellow snow, don't piss on an electric fence—but you broke the cardinal one."

If Soul looked confused it was because he was. He also still wanted to punch the idiot, but he should probably hear this first. "And what rule would that be?" he said drily.

Star leaned closer. "Above all, never, ever call Maka Albarn 'sweetheart.'"

If anything, the furrow that had appeared in his brow deepened. "I—" Soul shook his head.

"Just trust your god on this," the assassin said with a small shrug. "Before you guys partnered up, I saw her lay grown strangers on their asses for the offense. She got better at reigning it in eventually, but for you of all people to do it, well, bra, can't say I'm surprised she went all John McEnroe on you ."

"But why the fuck," he shook his head. "I mean, it's not like I've never called her stupid shit before."

"Think about it, dude. How many times have you heard her horny asshat dad call her that?"

"So—"

"Think about it. It's what he used to call her mom. It's what he calls her. I know things are better with the old lech now, but that doesn't mean that word is any less gross to her after everything. So yeah, for you to use it—yeah." Star finished and Soul's stomach turned.

And this was why he had called Star; he really had fucked up. "She with Tsu?" Soul asked with a sigh.

"Mmm. Tsu ran out about five minutes before you called. Said something about meeting Maka for coffee or whatever." He fished out his phone and fiddled around. "They're at Deathbucks if you wanna go make an ass of yourself."

Soul nodded and got up to leave.

"Hey, aren't you gonna thank your god for his infinite wisdom and mercy?" his friend called out to his retreating back. Tempted to flip him off, the scythe put up a hand in a wave without turning around and headed out the door.

He had a partner to soothe.

Ten minutes later he was walking into Deathbucks, scanning the place for his meister. She was exactly where he might have expected her to be, in a corner booth across from the dark arm weapon, steaming cup clasped in her hands. Soul strode over without hesitation and looked down between the two women. Tsubaki looked back up at him placidly, offering a small smile. Maka didn't look at him at all.

"Hey, Tsu," he said too casually.

"Hello, Soul-kun," she returned, smile never wavering.

"Mind if I have a word with my partner?" he asked, voice even.

"Oh, of course not! I was about to go anyway. I need to start dinner." She stood up, grabbing her purse and her coffee cup. "Goodbye Soul, Maka. And Maka-chan?" She added, voice suddenly more serious, less cheerful. Maka, who had remained silent until now, eyes fixed firmly on her cup, looked up to meet the shadow weapon's gaze. "Remember what you said a few minutes ago? I'm sure. Okay?"

Maka just nodded, eyes returning to her cup, face blank. Tsubaki left, and Soul took her place, looking at his meister's averted gaze imploringly.

"Hey," he said, voice carefully neutral.

"Hey," she said quietly, eyes still downcast.

Time to push forward. This was like removing a band aid—the quicker he tore it off, the quicker he could get the sting over with and they could both feel better. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—called you that, and I'm sorry. I love you, Maka, you know I'd never—"

"I know," she cut him off, gaze finally meeting his. Her eyes were wide and sorrowful and it made his stomach turn because he'd done that, unwittingly maybe, but it didn't change how it made her feel, and he just wanted to make it better.

"I'm sorry, too. I—shouldn't have chopped you. You didn't know, I just—it caught me off guard and I—I'm sorry, okay? I know—I know you didn't mean it that way." She sighed and he reached his hand across the table to clasp hers.

"Doesn't mean it's okay," the scythe grunted. "I know why it hurt you, Star told me, and—I'm really sorry."

Maka nodded, forced a small, weak smile. "It's okay. Things are better now with—with everything. And I know you're not—well, you're you, and yeah you can be stupid sometimes, but I know you'd never hurt me on purpose. So really, Soul, it's alright. Just—don't call me that again, okay?" Her smile became genuine. "Because then I'll chop you into next week without an ounce of remorse. Not one."

"Fair," he smiled back, relieved. "Totally fair." He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. "Any way I can make it up to you?" he added, still smiling.

Her own smile widened further. "If you want to get out of here and go home, I'm sure I can come up with a few ways."

"Your wish is my command, my meister," he grinned at her, standing. She stood as well and took his arm, and together, they left the cafe.

When they got home, Soul did indeed make it up to his meister several times over.

He never called her sweetheart again.